So That My Life Be

Thrice Happy He, Who By Some Shady Grove, Far From The Clamorous World; Doth Live His Own; Though Solitary, Who Is Not Alone, But Doth Converse With That Eternal Love.

He Who Dares Not (reason), Is A Slave.

Sleep, Silence's Child, Sweet Father Of Soft Rest, Prince Whose Approach Peace To All Mortals Brings Indifferent Host To Shepherds And Kings Sole Comforter To Minds With Grief Oppressed.

Books Have That Strange Quality, That Being Of The Frailest And Tenderest Matter, They Outlast Brass, Iron And Marble.

So That My Life Be Brave, What Though Not Long?